


And Oh How the Stars Love the Night

by NoahAndTheRain



Series: Let's Forget the World and Talk Awhile [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (Briefly mentioned) - Freeform, (again briefly mentioned), Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Established Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, avocados in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4464569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoahAndTheRain/pseuds/NoahAndTheRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"About what?"</p><p>"Matt Murdock."</p><hr/><p>"Okay, sure.  What'd you wanna talk about?"</p><p>"Foggy Nelson."</p><p>(just a little drabble on things they'll never say)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Oh How the Stars Love the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this idea just sort of came to me when I was doing the washing up and I thought hey why not? 
> 
> Basically, the thing is what if you took two characters who love each other and asked them what they thought of their love? I'm planning on making this a part of a series, I've got a cartinelli one in the works and have a few notes for a stucky one. If you like them, feel free to inbox me or comment a pairing you'd like me to have a go at. 
> 
> The 'Foggy smells of raspberries and chocolate' thing comes from a wonderful fic by ChuckleVoodoos called De Nile. I fell in love with the idea, and am now using it permanently.
> 
> So, on with the drabble. Tell me what you think? (Comments are my world)

“Matt Murdock?” 

Foggy pauses, and you can’t quite tell whether that’s because he’s thinking about it, or because the name has a way of sticking to the back of his teeth like toffee. 

“Well, if there’s one guy in the world who knows him,” he continues, flashing that delightful grin of his, “you’re looking at him.”   

That’s not what you asked, of course.  But it’s okay, Foggy knows that. 

“What can I say?”  He shrugs a little along with his smile, and you can see behind his eyes and at the corners of his mouth that there’s a whole lot that Foggy Nelson _wants_ to say about Matthew Murdock, but really he was asking the right question about what he _could_.  You’d reply that he could say anything in the world right now, but Foggy knows that too.   

Josie’s is all but empty, and you suppose that Foggy could see the flickering neon of the sign through the window behind you if he were looking.  But he isn’t.  His eyes have come to settle on the gin in his glass as he swirls it into whirlpools, like maybe that’ll suck out all the words that keep faltering on the tip of his tongue.  Matt Murdock would be able to tell you exactly what the bar smells of, but all you can distinguish is alcohol and a vague, musty something that lingers with the half-light.  All the other barstools have been put up on the counter.  Foggy takes a sip of his drink, and he speaks, voice twice as dry as the gin and smile half as big as before (but about ten times more sincere, you think). 

“He’s great.  I’ve known him a long time and… well, he’s always been there.  I’ve learnt a lot from him, and he’s a damn good lawyer to boot.  But I suppose that doesn’t really cut it, does it?”  A breath of what could have been laughter escapes Foggy’s lips, and his eyes soften ever further as the thought of Matthew Murdock seeps into even the most remote nooks and crannies of his mind.

Yes, Franklin Nelson has known Matthew a long time.  College was just the start for them, and whether or not Matt knew it in that incredible way that he did, Foggy couldn’t have guessed that it was the start of something so wonderful.  And yes, Matt has always been there for Foggy, though Foggy probably didn’t really understand just how much he’d been there for Matt.  Even if he did he’d have bushed it off.  Doing whatever there was to be done for Matt; that was second nature to Foggy by now.  They worked together, that’s how it was, and taking one away from the other would be like taking the blood away from the Passion.  By the witness of the martyrs, it would be an act against God Himself.  Matt might say that was blasphemy.  Foggy would say it was true.  And his heartbeat would remain steady as he did so.

“He’s incredible.  I mean, all that vigilante stuff…  Tell the truth, amazing as that is, I think if I ever saw him out there, I would die.  Like, not remotely exaggerating there, I would have a heart attack and die.  He can tell me not to a million times, but I worry about him.” 

When they were in college, Matt told Foggy one night that he was going for a quick library run, he’d be back in about ten minutes.  Sure enough, Matt went to the library - it was to see if they’d got the Braille version of textbook he needed yet - but he spent so long browsing their surprisingly interesting Braille section that he forgot about the time, and when Foggy got back to their room after a date with Marci and Matt wasn’t back yet, he _freaked_ , and it took about twenty minutes of hugging before Foggy calmed down again.  They slept in the same bed that night, like they sometimes did after Foggy had a particularly bad attack, and the last thing Foggy remembered before falling asleep was Matt breathing ‘I’m not going anywhere.’  He’d stayed true to his word thus far.  With all that vigilante stuff now though, Foggy was just about twice as likely to break down any minute, and someone might take Matt’s ability to tell the truth on that one away, and Matt could promise all he liked.  Foggy would still worry about him. 

“I can honestly say that he is the most generous, kind, good-hearted person I have ever had the blessed fortune of knowing.”  Foggy’s all but finished his drink, and there’s a drowsiness in the back of his eyes that’s been there a while and is trying to fight for attention over the thoughts of Matt Murdock that are swimming around in his mind.  “He deserves the world.  And Lord knows; I’m not the world.” 

You don’t have to hear his heartbeat to know that Foggy Nelson truly believes that. 

“But somehow, I seem to be enough.  And as long as that lasts, hey, who am I to complain?” 

He’s gone back to the wider grin, and he downs the rest of his drink, and you know that that’s all of the millions of things Foggy Nelson could say about Matthew Murdock (if only he’d let himself) that you’re going to hear tonight.  That’s okay with you.  They’ll work their way out, in time, perhaps confessed on walks in the park on autumn afternoons, or slurred out and shrugged off over a few too many beers in Josie’s, or sighed with a smile over morning coffees.  However they escape him.  You know that Foggy will say all these things, and probably a handful more, and they’ll find their way back to Matt Murdock.  He’s the one who should hear them.  And anyway, you can fill in the gaps.

As Foggy Nelson gets up to go home, and the few remaining lights of Josie’s flicker off around you, you are sure of one thing.  When it comes to Matthew Murdock, Foggy Nelson has only ever been very much in love. 

* * *

 

“Foggy?”

The name comes with a smile and a slight laugh, the kind that just glimmers with happiness, and Matt puffs out coffee steam with it.  He’d left his glasses, as usual, on his bedside table the night before, and there they still lay, so you can see his eyes.  It’s strange to think that, while Matt can tell emotions by heartbeats, he’ll never really know how much he’s giving away with those ever unseeing eyes. 

It’s morning, and the day, as yet, is lazy.  The two of you sit at the table, mugs of coffee in front of you, the morning light filling the apartment with a grey, yet comfortable glow.  And those eyes, Matt Murdock’s unfocused eyes, are as warm as the day could promise to be, and the name seems to mingle with the coffee on his tongue and you can tell which taste he prefers. 

The apartment smells of apples and raspberries and steam and sleep and chocolate and about a hundred other things Matt could list but doesn’t, and the mugs are warm in your hands, and outside the confines of the apartment there are cars humming and summer breezes sighing and thousands upon thousands of heartbeats, beating love and life around the city (and inside the apartment, there’s the sound of quiet breathing and clinking coffee cups and slow, steady heartbeats, beating love and life around the sparse but warm rooms, tucked away in one corner of Hell’s Kitchen).  Matt knows all of this much better than you, of course, and he won’t tell you all that he knows about this beautiful Sunday, but that’s alright.  You’re fine with the apartment smelling of coffee and morning, and feeling like summer, and sounding of a lazy quiet.  And in all honesty, Matt would probably be just fine with that too. 

“Well, there’s not much to say, really,” Matt says after a stretch and another sip of coffee, reluctantly washing Foggy’s name from his lips.  You know that Matt could write novels on Foggy Nelson, you know that he knows exactly how his heartbeat sounds this morning, and how it sounded last night, and how it would sound tomorrow afternoon, you know that Matt could use up all the words in the world and it still wouldn’t come close to just how much there is he could say about Franklin ‘Foggy’ Nelson.  You also know that Matt’s not lying, and you don’t need to hear his heartbeat to be sure. 

What if, you wonder, Matt could hear heartbeats worlds away?  He has a way of knowing things.  Does he know how many souls wish to wander the universe?  Does anybody else out there love the night for the sake of the stars?  Would Matt even make sense of that?  Perhaps you will never know, and perhaps even if Matt could tell, he wouldn’t care.  Matt loves this city, with its light pollution blotting out any specks in the sky Matt might have been able to see if things were different.  Matt loves Karen, and he loves Claire, and he loves Foggy, oh _Lord_ , Matt loves Foggy, and right now he is all that’s brightening the blackness of Matt’s mind.  But of course, Foggy would let a night go sleepless to take Matt away from the buildings and brightness, just to describe to him the wonders of the stars in the sky, and ask if he thinks the stars marvel back.  Does Matt, the shining light that he is, love his own endless night? 

Maybe Matt doesn’t see himself as a star.  Maybe he thinks smaller.  A few of the most important facts in all creation are that a) Foggy Nelson smells like raspberries and chocolate, because he uses raspberry shampoo and cocoa butter scrub, b) Foggy Nelson is currently happy, and c) Foggy Nelson’s heartbeat sounds a whole lot like home. 

Of course, Foggy Nelson hasn’t always smelt like raspberries and chocolate, and he hasn’t always been happy, and his heartbeat certainly hasn’t always sounded like home.  In college, they used to buy discount bottles of shampoo that smelled more like a mess of lab chemicals than anything and Foggy would go without his scrub (and during these periods, Matt discovered that he used it because ‘not everyone has stupid naturally clear skin, _Murdock_ ’).  In college, Foggy couldn’t always afford his meds, and Matt would come back to their room and it’d taste like copper and tears, and they’d sleep in the same bed those nights too.  In college, Foggy’s heartbeat was too fast, and too loud.  Every time Matt would take Foggy’s arm, or their hands brushed passing papers, or just on quiet evenings when Matt could _feel_ Foggy’s eyes on him.  Too fast, too loud.  It was a clear cut sign that someone was in love.  Worse than being sick, Stick had taught him, and for the longest time Matt took that to heart. 

Or course, Matt Murdock knows different now.  Now that Foggy has his shampoo and his scrub, and he doesn’t need his meds anymore, and Matt just loves the sound of that heartbeat. 

Yes, Matt thinks smaller.  This city is his universe, and Foggy Nelson… well-

“He’s my world.” 

When he puts it like that, you find yourself smiling, because really, that is all there is to say, isn’t it? 

The sound of footsteps raises your head, but Matt simply lifts his coffee to his lips again and smiles a little wider.  Foggy pads into the kitchen, all mussed hair and sleep filled eyes, and a smile you recognise at the corners of his mouth.  He takes the third mug from where Matt had left it by the coffee pot and comes over to the table, and Matt’s raised his head slightly now. 

“Shouldn’t you be at Church?” Foggy asks, his eyebrows raised a little, the smile burning softly behind his eyes.

“What, and miss a lazy Sunday morning with you?” Matt says, unwittingly returning the warmth in his own, deep brown eyes.  His hand has trailed up to Foggy’s and their fingers have slotted together, and it’s nothing like pieces in a jigsaw because clumsy and gentle but how could that ever matter?  There is nothing but love in this room.

Foggy places a soft, lingering kiss to Matt’s lips, a couple of unimportant drips of coffee spilling onto the table, but as Foggy sits down, neither of them care.  

You leave them now, to their kisses and morning coffees (and beers in Josie’s and autumn afternoon walks), and as they don’t say all these things to each other, would-be poetry flitting across skin as they trail fingers along each other’s arms and taste the lazy Sunday morning on each other’s lips, you are sure of one thing.  When it comes to Foggy Nelson, Matt Murdock may not have been in love with him from the beginning, but he has always loved him, and he loves now more than the stars love the night. 


End file.
